


alexithymia

by unholyconfessions (orphan_account)



Series: salt in the wounds [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode Related, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pack Dynamics, Set During 5.08 - Ouroboros, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 14:30:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4610247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/unholyconfessions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s bad enough when Theo’s all over him in the nonliteral sense. </p>
<p>[sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4572336">atonement.</a>]</p>
            </blockquote>





	alexithymia

**Author's Note:**

> Just a missing scene from 5.08 (and a little extra!) before I go onto 5.09.
> 
> Unbetaed. Feedback is appreciated.
> 
> Happy reading! :-)

Stiles sits on the gravel, elbows set firmly on his knees. He watches Theo flip his Jeep back onto four wheels, chews on his cheek until the taste of his blood mixes with Theo’s.

Those last moments before whatever it was that hit them replay in slow motion in his head: Theo’s eyes turning bright and amber, not innocent but not inherently guilty. Theo’s voice when he turned to Stiles to say, “Then here’s my interpretation of what happened with you and Donovan: not guilty,” and the way Stiles couldn’t help but stare at Theo’s lips shaping around the words. That imperceptible pause right before he decided that kissing Theo again would be a bad idea.

Fire crackled in the air before Theo’s neck snapped to the side and his blood sprayed on Stiles’ face, the metallic tang of it sticking to the roof of Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles breathes, swallows the taste, ignores the way his stomach protests.

Maybe Theo was right. Maybe the verdict’s not guilty. Not because he isn’t—he is, he took a life and there’s no changing that—but because he doesn’t _feel_ guilty for killing Donovan, just like Theo doesn’t for killing Josh. Not guilty doesn’t mean innocent, but it can mean justified.

_It was self-defense. For me and for you._

Maybe he’s no different than Theo, after all, but he won’t, can’t admit that.

Unstoppable force, meet unmoving object.

“We should get you to the hospital,” Theo says, pulling Stiles out of his thoughts. “You took in a lot of smoke.”

Stiles glances up at him, gives out a sigh and a slight shake of his head, mutters, “I’m fine,” as he scrambles to his feet and takes a step toward his Jeep.

It’s completely ruined.

Theo’ right behind him when the police scanner inside it comes to life. _Suspect in 1-8-7 is in custody and en route to station. Suspect’s name is Yukimura, Kira._ He stays there, feet shuffling over the gravel, asks, “What’s a 1-8-7?”

Stiles takes a moment to rearrange his thoughts before he says, “Homicide.”

“So, what now?”

Stiles stumbles back, tries to come up with a plan of action, but all he can think about is the taste of Theo’s blood in his mouth, the feel of it as it dries on his face. It’s bad enough when Theo’s all over him in the nonliteral sense.

Stiles turns back around, one hand coming up to wipe at his face in a futile attempt to get Theo’s blood off. Theo moves closer to him, slackens his jaw.

“Alright, we need to get to Scott’s,” Stiles says, not waiting for Theo’s response before jumping back into the car, hoping it’s in good enough shape to at least get them there.

Scott will know what to do. If not him, then Lydia. Malia, whoever. _Someone_ will know what to do.

“For what?”

Stiles closes his eyes, presses his forehead to the steering wheel when heat starts pooling in his chest, like a bomb ready to blow up.

“Stiles—”

“Shut up!” he shouts, slapping the wheel. He ignores the pain that radiates up his arm and sets deep in his shoulder, ignores the hurt twist of Theo’s lips. “Just get in, okay? I said we need to get to Scott’s—so we’re going to Scott’s.”

Theo looks like he might not move from his spot for a moment, but then he nods and Stiles breathes in relief. Theo settles onto the passenger seat purposely slow. Stiles has a hard time ignoring that as he tries to start the car and fails. The engine roars to life after a third attempt and Stiles rams it into gear, lets the steady hum of it fill the ten-minute ride to Scott’s house.

The front door is unlocked when they get, and they walk right in.

Malia stirs on her spot on the couch but doesn’t wake. Lydia’s asleep next to her, pressed to her side as if she got cold during the night.

Stiles makes his way to the closest bathroom, doesn’t have the chance to lock the door behind him before Theo sneaks inside and does it himself, quietly, almost expertly so.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Stiles nods, catching Theo’s eyes in the mirror. “I said I’m fine.”

“Stiles,” Theo says, as if Stiles’ name is a protest in itself.

“Look,” Stiles interjects. “I don’t know what your problem is, but if you’re going to stand there, at least shut up and let me think for a second.”

Theo opens his mouth, closes it when Stiles’ hands wrap around the edge of the sink hard enough for his knuckles to crack. Stiles breathes, relaxes just enough to relieve the tension in his muscles, but not enough to let Theo make a move on him. His fingers shake as he opens the tap to throw some water on his face, liquid-cold against his skin.

Theo’s feet shuffle behind him, but Stiles keeps his head down, doesn’t move even as Theo’s hand touches his shoulder, right above the bruise Donovan left on that soft curve of muscle.

“Let me see.”

Stiles turns, doesn’t fight it. Theo tugs at Stiles’ shirt to expose the purple-red bruise and Stiles thinks he sees concern flash in Theo’s eyes for a second, but it goes away as fast as it came.

Stiles leans back against the sink and Theo reaches around him, brings a damp towel to his face. He flinches in self-preservation when Theo’s free hand comes up to touch the side of his neck, doesn’t meet Theo’s gaze. Theo breathes against him, slow and quiet, wipes his own blood from Stiles’ cheeks.

Bitterness blooms in Stiles’ chest but not for long. Theo’s still a threat, probably always will be, and he still makes Stiles’ skin crawl like no other, but it doesn’t matter right now.

Stiles’ fingers close around Theo’s wrist, give it a small tug before pushing it away from his face. Theo could but doesn’t struggle.

“I’m fine,” Stiles says, taking the blood-stained towel from Theo’s hand.

Theo moves away from him and back toward the door, unlocks it with a soft click. Stiles washes away the remnants of Theo’s blood and brushes past him, makes his way back into the living room, where Lydia’s moved away from Malia, and makes himself comfortable between them.

He pulls Malia close, her head on his shoulder, and she murmurs something in her sleep. He breathes in her scent, presses his nose to her hair until she takes over his senses and he can forget about Theo for a split second.

Theo emerges from the hallway a moment later, catlike footsteps against the old hardwood floor, and something flares across his features when he takes a seat opposite Stiles.

“Go to sleep,” he says, like he’s measuring his words. “I’ll be here.”

Stiles nods, his will to fight succumbing to the exhaustion setting in his bones, but as he closes his eyes, arms tightening around Malia’s frame, he’s not sure whether Theo meant those words as a warning or reassurance.

*

Everyone’s already up by the time Stiles jerks awake.

Malia is sitting on the coffee table between his couch and Theo’s, elbows on each of her knees like she’s been waiting for him to wake up. Stiles glances up at her and then at Theo. Theo doesn’t look like he slept at all.

“Hey,” Malia says, squeezing Stiles’ hand. She looks at him for a moment, gives him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Corey and Mason are here. Scott hasn’t come back yet.”

Stiles nods, exchanges as small look with Theo. Malia asks them what happened the night before, and it’s Theo who opens his mouth to speak, ever to the rescue, but the front door slaps open before he can tell her.

“Hey, is Kira okay?” Stiles asks.

Scott comes rushing past them, doesn’t say a word as he makes his way upstairs.

Stiles glances at Theo and Malia. They nod in silent agreement—they’ll talk about this, later—and the three of them go after Scott.

Scott isn’t acting like himself but, with everything that’s happened, Stiles doesn’t blame him.

How can he, when he’s done much, much worse?

Malia tries to get Theo to go after Liam and Hayden when they’re gathered back downstairs, divided. Theo hesitates for the smallest moment before announcing he’d rather stay back at the house—for what, Stiles doesn’t know. He doesn’t trick himself into believing it’s for him or Corey, despite what Theo says.

“Scott, Stiles is right, we need to slow down and _think_ ,” Lydia says, but Scott isn’t listening.

Stiles can’t say he’s surprised to find Theo and Lydia on his side instead of Scott and Malia.

“I _am_ thinking,” Scott says, “about how Liam and Hayden could already be dead.

“You could’ve hurt him, Scott. Really hurt him.” 

Scott sets his jaw, deflects Lydia’s accusation, “I have to find Liam.” 

Scott leaves with Mason and Malia and doesn’t give Stiles a chance to do anything other than to ask Malia to text him if anything happens, but she doesn’t seem to be listening either.

“I got it,” she tells him dismissively.

Stiles clenches his fists in frustration, but lets her go.

Not even his dad listens when Stiles goes to find him at the hospital before they move another body.

Dad, you gotta leave the body, okay? Leave it and let whoever wants to take it just take it,” Stiles tells him. “Trust me.”

“I’m doing my job, Stiles,” his dad says. “Go home, _now_.”

Stiles stands his ground and doesn’t leave his dad’s side until he starts asking about keycards and after-hours access to the library. This isn’t the time for his dad to find out about Donovan, if ever.

Stiles lies with ease, barely misses a breath.

He must be learning from Theo.

Somehow, they get Liam and Hayden back alive. Because of Theo, no less. Mason and Malia can’t sing him enough praise.

Hell, even Scott seems reluctantly thankful.

Stiles shoves at Theo’s shoulders when it’s just them outside and no one else, pushes him and loses his breath from the force of it.

Theo presses Stiles to the battered Jeep and kisses him before Stiles has another chance to show his frustration. Stiles kisses back, this time, not because he should, but because he _can_ , because Malia and Scott aren’t who Stiles wants them to be and Theo’s _right there_. Real and warm under his touch.

Because he wants to feel guilty about something, _anything_ , even if it’s this, with Theo’s tongue swiping across his lower lip and Theo’s hips pressed against his, hands and claws pushing at one another until Stiles is boneless under Theo’s touch.

Because even though his body and mind are screaming at him not to trust Theo, and he _doesn’t_ , that emptiness in his chest says otherwise. Theo fills that void with something dark and twisted and something Stiles is familiar with, something almost good.

Because if Stiles can’t feel guilty about killing someone, maybe he can feel guilty about this.


End file.
